


Old Stradlater, that goddamn sexy bastard...

by PeachBao



Category: The Catcher in the Rye - J. D. Salinger
Genre: Closeted Gay, Gay denial, M/M, nothing flitty here, that one Stradlater-getting-ready-for-a-date scene, totally not a flit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29563338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachBao/pseuds/PeachBao
Summary: “Now listen,” Stradlater said, before I even had the chance to ask what the hell was going on. “I’m not going out with Jane goddam Gallagher.” He practically shouted it, with this funny expression on his face.“Why’re you looking at me all flitty?” I asked. He kept looking at me all flitty.“For Chrissake.”I was still sitting in my chair and he just stood over me.“Of course I’m not.”
Relationships: Holden Caulfield/Stradlater
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Old Stradlater, that goddamn sexy bastard...

I didn't have anything special to do, so I went down to the can and chewed the rag with him while he was shaving. We were the only ones in the can, because everybody was still down at the game. It was hot as hell and the windows were all steamy. There were about ten washbowls, all right against the wall. Stradlater had the middle one. I sat down on the one right next to him and started turning the cold water on and off – this nervous habit I have. Stradlater kept whistling ‘Song of India’ while he shaved. He had one of those very piercing whistles that are practically never in tune, and he always picked out some song that's hard to whistle even if you're a good whistler, like ‘Song of India’ or ‘Slaughter on Tenth Avenue.’ He could really mess a song up. 

You remember I said before that Ackley was a slob in his personal habits? Well, so was Stradlater, but in a different way. Stradlater was more of a secret slob. He always looked all right, Stradlater, but for instance, you should've seen the razor he shaved himself with. It was always rusty as hell and full of lather and hairs and crap. He never cleaned it or anything. He always looked good when he was finished fixing himself up, but he was a secret slob anyway, if you knew him the way I did. The reason he fixed himself up to look good was because he was madly in love with himself. He thought he was the handsomest guy in the Western Hemisphere. He was pretty handsome, too – I'll admit it. But he was mostly the kind of a handsome guy that if your parents saw his picture in your Year Book, they'd right away say, "Who's this boy?" I mean he was mostly a Year Book kind of handsome guy. I knew a lot of guys at Pencey I thought were a lot handsomer than Stradlater, but they wouldn't look handsome if you saw their pictures in the Year Book. They'd look like they had big noses or their ears stuck out. I've had that experience frequently. 

Anyway, I was sitting on the washbowl next to where Stradlater was shaving, sort of turning the water on and off. I still had my red hunting hat on, with the peak around to the back and all. I really got a bang out of that hat. 

"Hey," Stradlater said. "Wanna do me a big favor?" 

"What?" I said. Not too enthusiastic. He was always asking you to do him a big favor. You take a very handsome guy, or a guy that thinks he's a real hot-shot, and they're always asking you to do them a big favor. Just because they're crazy about themself, they think you're crazy about them, too, and that you're just dying to do them a favor. It's sort of funny, in a way. 

"You goin' out tonight?" he said. 

"I might. I might not. I don't know. Why?" 

"I got about a hundred pages to read for history for Monday," he said. "How 'bout writing a composition for me, for English? I'll be up the creek if I don't get the goddam thing in by Monday, the reason I ask. How 'bout it?" 

It was very ironical. It really was. 

"I'm the one that's flunking out of the goddam place, and you're asking me to write you a goddam composition," I said. 

"Yeah, I know. The thing is, though, I'll be up the creek if I don't get it in. Be a buddy. Be a buddyroo. Okay?" 

I didn't answer him right away. Suspense is good for some bastards like Stradlater. He was looking at me all friendly as hell, all of a sudden, only because he wanted my help. I swear.

"What on?" I said. 

"Anything. Anything descriptive. A room. Or a house. Or something you once lived in or something-- you know. Just as long as it's descriptive as hell." He gave out a big yawn while he said that, stretching those goddam handsome lips of his. Which is something that gives me a royal pain in the ass. I mean if somebody yawns right while they're asking you to do them a goddam favor. "Just don't do it too good, is all," he said. "That sonuvabitch Hartzell thinks you're a hot-shot in English, and he knows you're my roommate. So I mean don't stick all the commas and stuff in the right place." 

I got bored sitting on that washbowl after a while, so I backed up a few feet and started doing this tap dance, just for the hell of it. I was just amusing myself. I can't really tap-dance or anything, but it was a stone floor in the can, and it was good for tap-dancing. I started imitating one of those guys in the movies. In one of those musicals. I hate the movies like poison, but I get a bang imitating them. Old Stradlater watched me in the mirror while he was shaving. All I need's an audience. I'm an exhibitionist. I could feel his eyes all over me like he was some goddam flit, but it really gave me a bang. "I'm the goddarn Governor's son," I said. I was knocking myself out. Tap-dancing all over the place. "He doesn't want me to be a tap dancer. He wants me to go to Oxford. But it's in my goddam blood, tap-dancing." Old Stradlater laughed. He didn't have too bad a sense of humor. His laugh was quite all right too, old Stradlater’s. "It's the opening night of the Ziegfeld Follies." I was getting out of breath. I have hardly any wind at all. "The leading man can't go on. He's drunk as a bastard. So who do they get to take his place? Me, that's who. The little old goddam Governor's son." 

"Where'dja get that hat?" Stradlater said. He meant my hunting hat. He'd never seen it before. 

I was out of breath anyway, so I quit horsing around. I took off my hat and looked at it for about the ninetieth time. "I got it in New York this morning. For a buck. Ya like it?" 

Stradlater nodded. "Sharp," he said. He was only flattering me, though, because right away he said, "Listen. Are ya gonna write that composition for me? I have to know." That damn phony. He ought to have at least complimented me real well, really knocked me out before he started asking for favours. 

"If I get the time, I will. If I don't, I won't," I said. I went over and sat down at the washbowl next to him again. "Who's your date?" I asked him. "Fitzgerald?" 

"Hell, no! I told ya. I'm through with that pig." 

"Yeah? Give her to me, boy. No kidding. She's my type." If you want to know the truth, she wasn’t, but I said it anyway. Don’t ask me why.

"Take her . . . She's too old for you." 

All of a sudden – for no good reason, really, except that I was sort of in the mood for horsing around – I felt like jumping off the washbowl and getting old Stradlater in a half nelson. That's a wrestling hold, in case you don't know, where you get the other guy around the neck and choke him to death, if you feel like it. So I did it. I landed on him like a goddam panther. 

"Cut it out, Holden, for Chrissake!" Stradlater said. He didn't feel like horsing around. He was shaving and all. "Wuddaya wanna make me do – cut my goddam head off?" 

I didn't let go, though. I had a pretty good half nelson on him. "Liberate yourself from my viselike grip." I said. All of a sudden, I was enjoying myself.

"Je-sus Christ." He put down his razor, and all of a sudden jerked his arms up and sort of broke my hold on him. He was a very strong guy. I'm a very weak guy. "Now, cut out the crap," he said. He started shaving himself all over again. He always shaved himself twice, to look gorgeous. With his crumby old razor. 

"Who is your date if it isn't Fitzgerald?" I asked him. I sat down on the washbowl next to him again. "That Phyllis Smith babe?" It was a phony question. 

"No. It was supposed to be, but the arrangements got all screwed up. I got Bud Thaw's girl's roommate now . . . Hey. I almost forgot. She knows you." 

"Who does?" I said. 

"My date." 

"Yeah?" I said. "What's her name?" I was pretty interested. 

"I'm thinking . . . Uh. Jean Gallagher." 

Boy, I nearly dropped dead when he said that. 

"Jane Gallagher," I said. I even got up from the washbowl when he said that. I damn near dropped dead. "You're damn right I know her. She practically lived right next door to me, the summer before last. She had this big damn Doberman pinscher. That's how I met her. Her dog used to keep coming over in our–" 

"You're right in my light, Holden, for Chrissake," Stradlater said. "Ya have to stand right there?" 

Boy, was I excited, though. I really was. With Jane Gallagher, I could make him lose interest just like that. Easy. 

"Where is she?" I asked him. "I oughta go down and say hello to her or something. Where is she? In the Annex?" 

"Yeah." 

"How'd she happen to mention me? Does she go to B.M. now? She said she might go there. She said she might go to Shipley, too. I thought she went to Shipley. How'd she happen to mention me?" I was pretty excited. I really was. 

"I don't know, for Chrissake. Lift up, willya? You're on my towel," Stradlater said. He had this sort of funny look on his face. I guess it was just because I was sitting on his stupid towel. 

"Jane Gallagher," I said. I couldn't get over it. "Jesus H. Christ." 

Old Stradlater was putting Vitalis on his hair. My Vitalis. 

"She's a dancer," I said. "Ballet and all. She used to practice about two hours every day, right in the middle of the hottest weather and all. She was worried that it might make her legs lousy – all thick and all. I used to play checkers with her all the time." I was gonna get him tired of her before he even had time to meet her, old Stradlater. I swear Stradlater wouldn’t neck a girl I’d been with. Like I’m worse or something.

"You used to play what with her all the time?" 

"Checkers." 

"Checkers, for Chrissake!" 

"Yeah. She wouldn't move any of her kings. What she'd do, when she'd get a king, she wouldn't move it. She'd just leave it in the back row. She'd get them all lined up in the back row. Then she'd never use them. She just liked the way they looked when they were all in the back row." 

Stradlater didn't say anything. That kind of stuff doesn't interest most people. 

"Her mother belonged to the same club we did," I said. "I used to caddy once in a while, just to make some dough. I caddy'd for her mother a couple of times. She went around in about a hundred and seventy, for nine holes." 

Stradlater wasn't hardly listening. He was combing his gorgeous locks. 

"I oughta go down and at least say hello to her," I said. 

"Why don'tcha?" 

"I will, in a minute." Only I wasn’t actually interested in old Jane. I was only checking his reaction.

He seemed bored enough, but he didn’t seem a goddam bit bothered by my interest in Jane. He started parting his hair all over again. It took him about an hour to comb his hair.

"Her mother and father were divorced. Her mother was married again to some booze hound," I said. "Skinny guy with hairy legs. I remember him. He wore shorts all the time. Jane said he was supposed to be a playwright or some goddam thing, but all I ever saw him do was booze all the time and listen to every single goddam mystery program on the radio. And run around the goddam house, naked. With Jane around, and all." 

"Yeah?" Stradlater said. That really interested him. About the booze hound running around the house naked, with Jane around. It would’ve been flitty except Stradlater was a very sexy bastard. 

"She had a lousy childhood. I'm not kidding." 

That didn't interest Stradlater, though. Only very sexy stuff interested him. 

"Jane Gallagher. Jesus . . .” You really gotta seem obsessed with someone if you want old Stradlater to pay attention. "I oughta go down and say hello to her, at least." 

"Why the hell don'tcha, instead of keep saying it?" Stradlater said. He didn’t seem interested.

I walked over to the window, but you couldn't see out of it, it was so steamy from all the heat in the can. "I'm not in the mood right now," I said. I really wasn't, either. You have to be in the mood for those things. "I thought she went to Shipley. I could've sworn she went to Shipley." I walked around the can for a little while. I didn't have anything else to do. "Did she enjoy the game?" I said. 

"Yeah, I guess so. I don't know." 

"Did she tell you we used to play checkers all the time, or anything?" 

"I don't know. For Chrissake, I only just met her," Stradlater said. I really got a bang out of that, for some reason. 

He was finished combing his goddam gorgeous hair. He was putting away all his crumby toilet articles. 

"Listen. Give her my regards, willya?" 

"Okay," Stradlater said, but I knew he probably wouldn't. You take a guy like Stradlater, they never give your regards to people. 

He went back to the room, but I stuck around in the can for a while, thinking about old Jane and Stradlater. Then I went back to the room, too. 

Stradlater was putting on his tie, in front of the mirror, when I got there. He spent around half his goddam life in front of the mirror. I sat down in my chair and sort of watched him for a while. At least he was nice to look at, but I don’t mean it flitty. 

"Hey," I said. "Don't tell her I got kicked out, willya?" 

"Okay." 

That was one good thing about Stradlater. You didn't have to explain every goddam little thing with him, the way you had to do with Ackley. Mostly, I guess, because he wasn't too interested. That's really why. Ackley, it was different. Ackley was a very nosy bastard. 

He put on my hound's-tooth jacket. 

"Jesus, now, try not to stretch it all over the place" I said. I'd only worn it about twice. It looked all crumby on me but on him it looked good. I’m telling you he was a handsome bastard.

"I won't. Where the hell's my cigarettes?" 

"On the desk." He never knew where he left anything. "Under your muffler." He put them in his coat pocket – my coat pocket. 

I pulled the peak of my hunting hat around to the front all of a sudden, for a change. I was getting sort of nervous, all of a sudden. I'm quite a nervous guy. "Listen, where ya going on your date with her?" I asked him. "Ya know yet?" I didn’t want to think about him holding old Jane’s hand, but I thought that maybe it was at some crumby place, at least.

"I don't know. New York, if we have time. She only signed out for nine-thirty, for Chrissake." 

I didn't like the way he said it, so I said, "The reason she did that, she probably just didn't know what a handsome, charming bastard you are. If she'd known, she probably would've signed out for nine-thirty in the morning." 

"Goddam right," Stradlater said. You couldn't rile him too easily. He was too conceited. "No kidding, now. Do that composition for me," he said. He had his coat on, and he was all ready to go. "Don't knock yourself out or anything, but just make it descriptive as hell. Okay?" 

I didn't answer him. I didn't feel like it. All I said was, "Ask her if she still keeps all her kings in the back row." 

"Okay," Stradlater said, but I knew he wouldn't. "Take it easy, now." He banged the hell out of the room. 

I’m telling you, five minutes later he was back. He barged into the room just as loud. 

“Now listen,” Stradlater said, before I even had the chance to ask what the hell was going on. “I’m not going out with Jane goddam Gallagher.” He practically shouted it, with this funny expression on his face. 

“Why’re you looking at me all flitty?” I asked. He kept looking at me all flitty. 

“For Chrissake.” 

I was still sitting in my chair and he just stood over me. 

“Of course I’m not.”

Then he leaned over me and I swear he was making a flitty pass at me. He put his hand right on my cheek, as if I had some goddam food pieces there to clean up. Except Ackley’s the crumby one, with food pieces and all. I pay attention to all that stuff, so I know I didn’t have any food on my cheek. I was gonna turn away, I really was, except I couldn’t do that to old Stradlater. 

“Hey, watch where you’re putting your hand why don’t you,” I said, all suave as hell. I swear I was playing it all cool and all. I wasn’t gonna let old Stradlater think I was some flit or something, for Chrissake. Old Stradlater didn’t even notice how the wind had gone out of me. I told you already how I barely have any wind. “Don’t go all flitty,” I said. But I felt sort of funny. I grabbed him by the front of my coat and pulled him toward me, all ready to wrestle again. 

On account of he was stronger than me, he jerked out of my grip and put his other hand on my other cheek. That gave me a bang. Can you imagine old Stradlater being all flitty? Well it was happening all right. What you need to know, now, is I’m not a flit. Old Stradlater, maybe. But I never even thought about doing anything flitty. 

Anyway, he just kept leaning towards me like he was some goddam leaning tower of Pisa or something. He kept leaning until his goddam face was right up in mine and his mouth was touching mine. I swear his gorgeous face was all smooth as hell on account of he’d just shaved it and all. Old Stradlater was always so in love with himself. It made me feel sort of flitty all of a sudden, though. I couldn’t help it. But I’m telling you at the moment I wasn’t thinking of how flitty it was. All I was thinking was how I wanted to neck him on account of his cheek was so smooth, like this phony Anne Louise Sherman’s . That time I was necking Anne Louise Sherman, I really didn’t enjoy it. I had just broken my rule of not necking girls I really found annoying, was all. Except Stradlater wasn’t such a phony. I liked old Stradlater, I really did. 

Old Stradlater and I were kissing, I guess, though you shouldn’t get any funny ideas. He was just too damn handsome, was all. He started running his strong hands all along my body like some goddam phony whore. Except it made me happy, for some reason. It really did. I got such a bang out of those hands of his that I didn’t even try to sit still anymore. Stradlater was the goddam flit, not me. I pulled my coat off him, the cigarettes falling out of the pocket and hitting the floor and all. He was still kissing me, old Stradlater, but I was already unbuttoning his shirt. His chest was smooth too, the sexy bastard. That made me nervous all of a sudden, thinking of Stradlater necking Jane with his goddam sexy chest and all. I really was a nervous type. So I tried to free myself of his grip and get my hunting hat. I was so nervous I thought I would go crazy. My hunting hat was lying on the floor, where Stradlater had thrown it when he was being all flitty. That made me sad, seeing my hunting hat on the crumby floor like that. I wasn’t a slob like Ackley. But Stradlater was pressing me into the chair damn well, so I couldn’t even get up. 

“Why’re you being so flitty, all of a sudden?” I said, all nonchalant. I was being all nonchalant again on account of I was no flit. 

“You and your goddam flits, Holden. For Chrissake.” 

That was all he said before he started kissing me again. Boy, was he kissing me well. All of a sudden, he took my hand and dragged me over to the bed. My bed was always lousy. I didn’t make it nice for guys like Stradlater and Ackley, seeing as they were all slobs. I never had a girl in here. We weren’t even allowed to. So you can see there was no point in keeping my bed all neat and all just for slobs. Old Jane would have about three hemorrhages seeing it, though. It was so lousy and all. It didn’t scare Stradlater, though. He just kept pulling me onto it until we were both lying there. I was under him, all of a sudden, and wearing nothing but a goddam sock. It was that sock my mom got all mad about on account she had to patch it last year. Socks can be all crumby like that sometimes. And now Stradlater was looking all over me with those Year Book handsome eyes of his. He didn’t even notice my sock. He was looking somewhere else. I already told you what a flit he was. It’s sort of funny in a way. Stradlater not seeing my crumby sock and all, I mean. 

Stradlater started kissing me all over and I felt all out of wind. The trouble is, I’ve never really necked anyone, to be honest. I mean he just kept kissing me like I was some whore. It really killed me, though. I’m no flit. But Stradlater was such a sexy bastard and I knew he’d go right off with old Jane if we stopped necking now. Stradlater was crumby like that. So I gripped him hard as I could and turned him over onto his back. Now I could see his chest and all. He really was handsome, even without my hound’s-tooth jacket and with his gorgeous locks all lousy. His hair was sticking out in all directions from my Vitalis and the necking but he still looked nice. You take a guy like that and he always looks good. Even necking. 

He was getting all flitty between his goddam legs and he was making these weird noises and all. Like as if I really was killing him. I couldn’t look at it anymore, for God’s sake. Before you get any ideas, it’s just because old Stradlater’s my friend and he was looking all dying and needy as hell. So I felt all bad for him. 

Just when I had decided to do something about this whole weird situation, Stradlater had me down on my back again, towering over me with his goddam strength. I could feel him slide down to the bottom of the bed, all snake-like. The wetness of that mouth of his on me – around me – knocked me out. He was having a goddam party down there or something. I stuck my hands in his sexy hair, which was still all stiff from the Vitalis. I was really knocking myself out ruining his Year Book hairstyle.

“Hey! Strad-”

The bastard kept licking me like I was some lollipop or something, very flitty. I didn’t tell him to stop, though. Girls always tell you to stop when you start necking them, but that’s just because they lose their goddam brains. I didn’t want to go all stupid in front of Stradlater, so I didn’t tell him to stop. I just pulled his hair harder. I pulled hard enough to uproot a tree, and I mean it. But Stradlater’s gorgeous hair didn’t even budge. I was about to slap him on the cheek or something – I really was – when my mouth made this weird noise all of a sudden. Stradlater looked up at me with these big eyes. You should’ve seen the look he gave me, like I was some girl – the type that drove you mad with desire. I felt all weirdly warm and sticky like as if the goddam bastard had just gone and melted my guts and they were dripping out all over the place. Stradlater was wiping it all up with some handkerchief and then all of a sudden he was all dressed again. 

“Jane’s waiting.” He said. 

The next part I don’t remember so hot, to tell you the truth. All I know is he was out the door before I had time to even pick my hunting hat off the floor where it lay in a crumby pile of clothing. I don’t know why but it made me so goddamn sad, is all. I was so sad I damn near started bawling. Stradlater that jerk. I sat there for about a half hour after he left. I mean I just sat in my chair, not doing anything. I kept thinking about Jane, and about Stradlater having a date with her and all. It made me so nervous I nearly went crazy again. I already told you what a sexy bastard Stradlater was. 

All of a sudden, Ackley barged back in again, through the damn shower curtains, as usual. For once in my stupid life, I was really glad to see him. 

He took my mind off the other stuff. He stuck around till around dinnertime, talking about all the guys at Pencey that he hated their guts, and squeezing this big pimple on his chin. He didn't even use his handkerchief. I don't even think the bastard had a handkerchief, if you want to know the truth. I never saw him use one, anyway

**Author's Note:**

> To be honest, I wrote this mostly because I had this strong need to take revenge on this book (I really hated it, but I had to read the whole thing *on account of* our English teacher forced us to; *she's a real phony* etc etc). Still, I did enjoy writing this, and the writing style is definitely more fun to emulate than to read. Whether you read this ironically or seriously, have fun, I guess... I won't judge ;3


End file.
